


bantam

by selwyn



Category: Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Multi, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23568802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selwyn/pseuds/selwyn
Summary: In the history of mankind, all great men tended to know one another by chance or happenstance, and the Owl and Ashina Isshin were no different. Some other, equally great men paid the Owl to raze Isshin’s supply line and in return, Isshin did his utmost to behead the Owl. Neither of them begrudged the other. These things just happened sometimes.The really surprising part was when the war ended and they, somehow, became circumstantial allies. Such was the way in Ashina. Anything was possible.-The Owl tilted his head. He wasn’t offended. They were cut from the same cloth after all. “Don’t be so suspicious, Ashina. I brought you my son. Take him, if you need that.”
Relationships: Genichiro Ashina/Sekiro | Wolf
Comments: 10
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU that cropped up in the middle of my gameplay. It's a canon divergence based on the question, "What if the Owl and Isshin worked together more?" From there, "bantam" was born.

In the history of mankind, all great men tended to know one another by chance or happenstance, and the Owl and Ashina Isshin were no different. Some other, equally great men paid the Owl to raze Isshin’s supply line and in return, Isshin did his utmost to behead the Owl. Neither of them begrudged the other. These things just happened sometimes.

The really surprising part was when the war ended and they, somehow, became circumstantial allies. Such was the way in Ashina. Anything was possible.

“This sake is shit,” the Owl said.

“You burnt my rice paddies, this is the result.”

They’d come to the meeting unarmed and unarmored in the nominal name of peace. Both of them could kill with their bare hands– had done so often– but it was the effort that counted. The Owl was covered in three days’ worth of stubble and Isshin smelled like a battlefield. Blood was still drying under their nails. Two hours earlier, they’d been killing each others’ forces.

“I heard you and the Interior Ministry had a cozy deal going on,” Isshin remarked.

“Had,” the Owl said, sourly. “That was before they tried to kill me.”

“You mean you didn’t try first?”

“First thing,” the Owl grunted, unashamed. The Great Shinobi didn’t have a master, only temporary truces. Honor wasn’t something he invested much in, outside of what was prudent. Maybe that was what ultimately pulled this affair together, this mutual cold pragmatism.

“I’ll kill you if you betray me.” Isshin’s mouth smiled. His eyes did not.

The Owl tilted his head. He wasn’t offended. They were cut from the same cloth after all. “Don’t be so suspicious, Ashina. I brought you my son. Take him, if you need that.”

Isshin said nothing for a beat, sipping his sake. The Owl hadn’t tried to hide the boy when he was riding up. He obviously wasn’t his actual son, he was too scrawny for that, but sure enough, he’d ridden on his pony behind the Owl and said he was the Wolf when questioned.

_ Wolf.  _ Isshin had snorted when he heard the name.  _ The Pup  _ would’ve been more appropriate. The child had been so small that he made his pony look like Onikage.

“I’ll behead him in your place,” Isshin said. “If you don’t follow through.”

The Owl shrugged. A hostage didn’t make men like them quail but it was a good gesture of initial goodwill. And besides, maybe the boy’d learn something. He was hungry enough to eat from the Lady Butterfly– a few samurai were nothing.

“To peace,” he said simply, raising his cup. Isshin followed suit, gently clinking them together. The sound was small and brief, yet louder than any temple bell.

The Owl departed early the next day, aiming to put some distance between himself and the war camp before the sun started working against him. The boy watched him go, still holding on to the reigns of his pony, a small rucksack slung over his shoulder. As soon the Owl crested over the lip of the hill, he allowed himself to be led to Isshin’s tent.

Inside, the lord was bathing. Hot steam curled over the rim of the wooden tub, water sloshing out when he dumped a bucket over his head. Even now, there was a sword close at hand, unsheathed and leaned against the tub.

“Come here. Let me take a look at you.” Isshin crooked his finger at the Owl’s puppy, beckoning him to come closer.

He was unimpressive at first glance. Thin, filthy, and sullen, Isshin wouldn’t have picked him out from any of the miserable crowds in an orphanage. But he met Isshin’s gaze, and he did not flinch. He stared, steady. Hard. He stared like an animal with nothing to lose.

He reminded Isshin of his own starving beast. Reaching out, he patted his cheek firmly, hard enough to make him sway in place. “You’re going to stay with me from now on.”

The boy said nothing.

“If you understand, nod.”

No reaction. Isshin patted him again, harder, almost a slap. His gaze stayed the same, two shards of flint taken from the mountainside. “Did the Owl pick up a mute runt?” he said.

Finally, the boy’s chin tilted in a rough nod.

“He picked up a mute?” Isshin bared his teeth in a smile.

“...no. I can talk.” The boy’s voice was hoarse, as if he rarely ever spoke. Considering who his conversation partner was, Isshin didn’t blame him. 

“Good. You’re my hostage. Your presence here makes sure your father behaves. Understand?”

Nod.

“You’ll behave too. If your father left you with any instructions…” Isshin curled his hand around the back of the boy’s skull. He had enough hair to use as leverage if he lunged. He would not be the first child he killed in the name of necessity. “Forget them now.”

To his credit, the boy did not flinch. “I’ll behave.”

“Good.” Isshin let him go. “Now– get.”

He didn’t actually expect him to do anything– the Owl was a bastard, not an idiot, but this was war and war made men into beasts. The child was already half-feral as it were. A junior officer was assigned to him lest he forget. The boy backed off as soon as Isshin released him, his gaze flickering warily. He didn’t turn his back on him until he was out of the tent and he backed into someone.

The Wolf jumped, bristling. The soldier he’d run into looked down at him with an unreadable face. He might have been a handsome man if it weren’t for a squashed nose that spoke of a life lived violently, and thick cheeks ruddied by wind. He, like many of the men here, was arrestingly tall. He also held his hands out as if the Wolf was a startled horse.

“My name’s Kawarada Naomori,” he said. “Isshin-dono left you in my care while your father is away.”

Strangely, the man dropped to one knee. It wasn’t a supplicating gesture. Just gentle. The Wolf eyed him, his hands, the sword at his side, until the man took off his kabuto, revealing the shaved pate of a fighting man. “I have a son your age,” he said. “His name is Rin. He wanted to come with me but I thought it’d be better if he was at home, protecting his mother while I’m here.”

The Wolf didn’t understand what the significance of the man’s son was but at least he didn’t seem hostile. He glanced back into the tent one more time to see the Ashina lord dump another bucket over his head, shaking his head vigorously, then grin as their eyes met. He didn’t want to stay here, near that man. He took a few steps closer to the soldier, who took that as his cue to stand with his kabuto tucked under his arm.

“Follow me,” he said. “We’ll be sharing a tent from now on.”

Kawarada led him through the war camp. It felt bigger from the inside than when Wolf saw it first, crossing over the hill with the Owl, and the soldiers who’d looked like thronging ants were now up close, yelling to one another, clanging armor and weapons, heaving with activity. His guide seemed well-known– soldiers sometimes stopped and greeted him respectfully, while eyeing the Wolf with open curiosity. Kawarada spoke briefly and waved off any questions, never stopping too long in one place.

He led them behind a curtain emblazoned with the lotus flower of the Ashina clan. Behind it, a small portion of the camp had been sectioned off to make room for a small line of tents. Kawarada lead them into one.

The noises outside were still audible but the crowds weren’t so oppressive anymore. The Wolf glanced around, taking in the tatami mats covering the ground, the weapons stored carefully in the corner, and a small chest near a buddha idol.

“There’s an extra cot for you,” Kawarada said. “You’ll sleep and eat here. Anything you need, tell me.” He looked down at him and his expression grew pensive. “But before that…”

After much prodding and poking, the Wolf surrendered his clothes and let himself be herded into a line of soldiers bathing in the river. The water was still cold and his teeth were chattering by the time he got out. Kawarada gave him a shitagi to wear– his clothes were being laundered. The man wasn’t done there either. After giving Wolf a hard stare, he shook his head and took out a knife.

Not noticing the way the Wolf tensed, Kawarada muttered something about fleas and made him sit down. That was how the Wolf got his first haircut since joining the Owl’s side. Kawarada wasn’t gentle but neither was he unkind– he lopped off long strips of hair that slithered to the ground limply as the Wolf watched.

“Better,” he grunted once he chopped off the last scraggly lock of hair. The Wolf’s head felt a good deal lighter than it used to. “Hair like that, you’ll get lice your first night sleeping here.”

He didn’t know what he felt. Some odd mix of gratitude and surprise, maybe, as he ran his hand over his shortened hair. This wasn’t what he expected. Soldiers… the Wolf had always thought of soldiers as something similar to roving wolf packs, hungrily eating up everything they encountered, be it crops or human lives. He wasn’t naive enough to call it kindness, but he didn’t know what else it could be.

“My father used to be a farmer,” Kawarada said. Most of his armor was gone and he had two bowls in his hands, one of which he handed to the Wolf– rice gruel, still hot from the pot. He was eager to talk, not minding that the Wolf immediately began to scarf his bowl down. “I would’ve followed in his footsteps if it weren’t for Isshin-dono. A peasant’s son, an officer in a lord’s army– imagine!”

The Wolf found a strip of watery meat under the rice. It tasted like heaven.

“My wife gave birth to my first daughter, Hina. I want her to get married to an officer when she’s older. She’ll be a beauty, that one, if she’s anything like her mother. A lotus of Ashina.” Kawarada chuckled to some private joke.

Scraping out the last dregs of the gruel, the Wolf sucked on his chopsticks to make it last a little longer. Hunger didn’t gnaw on him the way it used to but it took longer for his body to forget. It felt wrong not to eat fast, even if it also meant he ran out fast.

“Hungry?” Kawarada nodded in the direction of where he got the gruel from. “There’ll be more. Eat while you can.”

The Wolf scrambled to get more, ignoring the man's laughter. The camp follower manning the rice pot, a knobbly-kneed indifferent teenager, scooped up more gruel and watched him gulp it down on the spot. She refilled the bowl again when he held it out.

The Wolf hesitated. “...thank you,” he muttered. She didn’t appear to have heard him.

Kawarada was already entertaining someone else when he returned to his campfire, a soldier who did not look like a soldier in his chicken-feather cape, a scowling wooden mask pulled back at a jaunty angle. He reminded the Wolf of his father, albeit much, much smaller.

“Ah, the hostage,” the newcomer said, looking up. His face was pinched and weather-beaten, gnarled as old tree bark. “I was wondering who made Isshin-dono so angry that they got the job.”

Kawarada laughed. It was even louder than usual and the Wolf noticed the bottle between their knees. He sat down, eyes on his bowl. The stranger leered.

“Are you a shinobi too, puppy?”

The Owl always said to never reveal too much. Shinobi with loose lips ended up dead shinobi. But the newcomer didn’t seem content with his silence. He heckled him, picking up a stick to prod his leg. “Come on now, that old bird’s toys always have a bite to them. Won’t you show me your teeth?”

The Wolf ignored it until one jab slipped into the soft part of his knee. With a hiss of pain, he snatched up the end of the stick and yanked, hard. The stranger let go before he was pulled into the fire, but he still stumbled a little. Out of all three of them, he seemed like the one who was most surprised by this outcome and he immediately began to laugh, triggering Kawarada into his own gale.

“Now see, Hanta, even the little ones are dangerous! Leave the boy alone, you don’t want a bird flying back in. He pecks a little too hard for all of us!”

Kawarada pushed Hanta and he sat back down, scratching the underside of his chin, watching the Wolf. “I’m a shinobi too,” he said. “Like that beast you call a father. I met him before– met him real well. Maybe we’ll meet the same way too, puppy.”

_ We already met, _ the Wolf thought but he wasn’t about to get into an argument with a drunk man. He polished off the last of his gruel and left the bowl next to Kawarada’s. He bowed to them both, setting them off again, and retreated into the tent. Today had been a long day and he was tired and still a little saddle-sore. Finding the extra cot that Kawarada mentioned, he laid it out in an unobtrusive corner of the tent and curled up to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, look who limped out the next chapter! I'll let you in on a secret and that's that I had 90% of this done last month but the last 10% took me an ice age. That's just my writing process. I also found the notes for the rest of this thing so fingers crossed.

The Wolf was startled out of his sleep by an ear-shattering snore. He jerked upright, frantically looking around, then relaxed when he realized it was Kawarada. The soldier continued to snore, not stirring even when the Wolf crept around the tent to get dressed and tuck his cot away. The difference between the Owl and other men was striking, a stark reminder of his own destiny.

Outside, the other soldiers prepared a sluggish start to the morning. Wood was chopped, breakfast was made, wagons of cargo hauled back and forth, and the Wolf threaded through it all, no one paying attention to one scrawny boy among many. He ate the rice gruel again and, after a moment’s thought, brought the still-snoring Kawarada a bowl too. After breakfast, there was a lull and with nothing else to do, the Wolf began to clean.

“D’y’know how to handle armor?”

The Wolf looked up from where he was cleaning the tatami mats out of a lack of anything else to do. “Yes.”

“Good. Give it a good polish.”

At first, the Wolf only worked on the breastplate, polishing away the accumulated grime of combat. Then Kawarada brought over the plates, so he rethreaded the lacing to secure them again. The kabuto followed suit, the horse-hair plume needing to be untangled, and after that were the arm and leg guards. He wasn’t even done sewing up the holes when Kawarada brought out his katana.

The Wolf worked industriously, mostly grateful to have something to do. Kawarada was quiet when he inspected his handiwork.

“Say,” he said, “you know how to handle a blade well. You know how to fight too?”

The Wolf nodded. Kawarada took him to the clearing set aside for combat practice.

The Wolf caught the bokken that he threw over. It was heavy, the size of a full katana, and had seen better days. Kawarada said nothing when he picked up his own and assumed a stance.

This, he was familiar with. A tension that the Wolf hadn’t even been aware of drained out of him as he assumed his own stance. He’d been uncertain of himself, he realized, not sure of what he was meant to do in this samurai camp that could one day be his enemy. The Owl had only said to remember the Code and not to embarrass him, and Isshin the same.

When Kawarada swung his bokken, the Wolf slipped out of its reach easily. He swung back and Kawarada side-stepped it. Having each others’ measure, they started a simple exchange of blows, their wooden blades meeting in solid, satisfying  _ thwacks.  _ Kawarada’s strength befit a man of his size– his every swing made the Wolf’s arm shudder. But he wasn’t the Owl. He didn’t hit to punish.

Kawarada thrust. The Wolf danced around it and tapped his bokken against the man’s chest.

“Excellent,” Kawarada said, standing up. “You clearly know the basics. Again.”

He didn’t give the Wolf time to move back. Gone were the casual, simple swings– he swept his bokken around and slammed it into his ankles to flip him over, all in the blink of an eye. The Wolf blinked on the ground, dazed.

Kawarada rested the bokken on his shoulder. “Up. Again.”

The Wolf rolled away in time to avoid the tip of the bokken as he thrust it down. He sprang back to his feet, grappling for his blade, and had to jump to avoid another low sweep that would’ve given his other ankle a matching bruise.

His heart pounded in his chest. The camp seemed clearer than ever. He could hear the whistle of the bokken through the air, read the minute flexes in Kawarada’s chest that signalled his attacks. 

Finally, a fight.

They broke for water when a commotion in the camp got all the soldiers buzzing. The Wolf collapsed as soon as his– guard? Guide? Mentor?– turned his back. He was soaked in sweat. His entire body ached from being hit and his arms felt like they were on fire. A few soldiers had sat down to watch them and one of them was kind enough to give him a waterskin that he gulped greedily.

He’d only just recovered when he realized that everyone was kneeling except for him. The Wolf joined hastily.

“Genichiro-sama,” Kawarada said. The Wolf peeked.  _ Genichiro-sama _ was a stern-faced boy who looked close to him in age, tall and dusky, dressed in dark, severe colors. The Ashina mon decorated his breast. This must be the grandson that the Owl mentioned, the heir.

“At ease, Kawarada-san,” Genichiro said. “From today, I’m going to be part of the war effort. I’m here to watch.”

Kawarada stood up. The rest followed suit and, slowly, the camp resumed its previous pace. A few soldiers still stopped to bow to Genichiro which he brusquely accepted.

“I understand that we’re working with the Great Shinobi now,” Genichiro said. “And that his son is our hostage.”

“Yeah.” Kawarada planted a meaty hand on the Wolf’s shoulder and pushed him forward. “Here he is.”

Genichiro stared. He looked vaguely surprised, as if he didn’t actually expect the hostage to just be here, right when he was doing his walkaround. The Wolf stared back, craning his neck a little to meet his eye.

“Him? But he doesn’t…” Genichiro stopped short, clearly rethinking what he was going to say.

“Doesn’t look like much,” Kawarada nodded, shaking the Wolf. Needled, he wrenched himself free. “Don’t let it fool you. Shinobi know how to hide their strengths.”

“Right,” Genichiro said, dripping doubt. It should’ve meant nothing but the Wolf bristled. It was obvious from the way he dressed and talked that he was born into his station– what did he know about anything? His grandfather was Ashina Isshin. But unlike him, Genichiro hadn’t earned the right to his condescension.

“You don’t look like much either,” he said.

Kawarada cuffed the back of his head. Genichiro held his hand up, however, before he could do anything else. He was scowling. “You’re our hostage,” he said. “You shouldn’t be so-”

“-I’ll be anything,” the Wolf cut him off. Hostility flared in the other boy’s eyes. “I’m not your hostage. You’re not the lord.”

Genichiro was silent. Then he spoke. “Kawarada-san, you were training before I arrived, yes?”

Kawarada eyed them both. “That’s right.”

“Perhaps we can continue. I’ll take your place.”

Genichiro picked up the bokken that Kawarada had been using. The Wolf picked up his own. For a few hushed moments, they stood across each other silently, eyes narrowed. The Wolf bared his teeth. Genichiro swung first.

It was a fight from the get-go. Genichiro ducked under a swing meant for his neck and thrust his bokken into the Wolf’s stomach. He stepped around it and struck again, pressing him until he forced Genichiro into the defensive. There was a ringing in the air, a ringing he attributed to the blood singing in his ears.

_ He’s actually good.  _ The Wolf was loath to admit it, but it was true. Genichiro didn’t falter no matter how hard he was pressed and when he got the chance to hit back, he struck true. His arms were already screaming from the earlier bout with Kawarada and they whimpered under Genichiro’s assault. But there was always more to push, always another line to cross. The Wolf jumped to the right, slammed his heel on Genichiro’s extended blade, forcing him down, and was about to put his bokken through his eye when he realized Kawarada was shouting at both of them.

_ “-down, get down, damn you!” _

He had no time to react. Kawarada slammed them into the ground and curled his massive chest over them just in time for the world to explode.

“He’ll live,” said the doctor to his grandfather when he emerged from the medical tent. “He’s lucky he’s a big man, none of the shrapnel reached his organs.”

Genichiro bit the inside of his cheek. His grandfather murmured understanding and disappeared into the medical tent. He could hear his voice but not make out anything he said. At least Kawarada-san was replying. He’d been unresponsive when Genichiro wriggled out from under him and saw the damage the cannon did to him.

If he hadn’t done that, both he and the shinobi boy might be dead right now. Together, they’d dragged him into cover and did their best to stem the bleeding with cloth torn from their sleeves. That was how grandfather found them, breathlessly crouched under the barricades, holding bloody linen strips against the holes in Kawarada’s back.

It’d been a surprise attack by the Ministry. A small force had snuck in close, killed the patrols on the cliffs, and assembled their cannons for a devastating attack. They’d been slaughtered to a man once the Ashina army rallied but the damage was done– their main target, the grain silos, were shattered. One of the generals from Isshin’s original liberation campaign, Kiku Hisashi, was dead. Grandfather was livid.

The shinobi boy sat next to him, also silent. His hair was long enough that Genichiro couldn’t see his face and tell what he was thinking. But his hands were clenched into fists. Fear? Or anger?

Grandfather came out of the tent.

“Gin, double the patrols through the night. Hanta– find the bodies of the nightjars who aren’t here. And if there aren’t bodies, then find the traitors.” He barked his orders and his men snapped to attention. The whole camp fed off of his energy, turning their frenzied panic into righteous outrage.

Just when Genichiro thought he would pass over them, however, grandfather stopped in front of the two of them. His silence had its own weight.

“Kawarada-san tells me that you two were sparring when the shells hit, too distracted to even notice your deaths.”

Genichiro winced under the weight of his palpable disappointment.

“He had to pull your stupid asses out before you died. And now he’s too injured to do anything. He was supposed to mind the Owl’s son, Genichiro, how does he do that now?”

“I apologize for my failure,” Genichiro said to the ground. “I am prepared to do anything necessary to recompense for my errors.”

“Good.” Grandfather’s heavy hand landed on the back of his head. “Then you’ll watch the Wolf from now on.”

Genichiro’s head snapped up. Grandfather forced him back down. From the corner of his eye, he could see him doing the same to the shinobi boy– to the Wolf.

“Someone has to keep an eye on the hostage and it might as well be you, since you seem so taken by him.”

Hot shame flooded his cheeks. When he got the summons telling him to come here, he had been eager. This was supposed to be his chance to finally stand at his grandfather’s side and prove that he deserved to be his heir. Thanks to one stupid slip-up, that was gone.

Eyes stinging, Genichiro nodded, not trusting his voice. Grandfather let him go.

The Wolf moved his things into Genichiro’s tent the following morning.

His purpose in the campaign was to learn how it worked from beginning to end. Though he was too young to be a proper soldier, he could still participate, dig latrines with the footmen, listen to the quartermaster tally up their remaining supplies, try to absorb the unlovely process of a grinding warmachine. The officers occasionally allowed him to sit in on their tactical meetings and there he learned about how Ashina herself contributed to the war with her narrow mountain passes and impenetrable foothills.

When it became clear that their supplies weren’t sufficient, the army turned to the hunters within its ranks. 

Genichiro drew his bow, aiming for the boar’s eye. He didn’t notice the wolf creeping behind him until it was too late. It leapt. Before he could react, a small shadow dropped onto the beast’s back, breaking its spine, and sunk a knife into its skull. The boar’s head jerked up and Genichiro loosed his arrow before it fled.

_ Bull’s eye. _

Birds took flight from a nearby copse of trees. He watched them go, shrilling their displeasure, then glanced at the shinobi boy. “Were you in the trees?”

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Genichiro hadn’t even heard him climb up. He tried to imagine swinging up into the branches in a similarly noiseless fashion and couldn’t do it– he was too big, too broad in the chest. Grandfather always prodded him over that.  _ Stomp around like that and I’m going to start wondering when Gyoubu’s horse got loose in the castle. _

“Take that with us,” he decided, pointing his chin at the wolf carcass. “No point wasting it now.”

They trudged back to camp with their respective beasts, not saying a word. Genichiro didn’t even know what he’d say. Their brief bout of competitiveness seemed petty after the surprise attack. Kawarada was still out of commission. Grandfather was making some kind of point, he was sure. Everything he did always had a point. A  _ lesson.  _ Genichiro just didn’t know what it was here. Taking responsibility for his actions? Building bridges with potential allies?

“This war… what’s it for?”

Genichiro shifted the weight of the boar to get a better look at the shinobi. He winced when he felt blood seep under his collar. The other boy didn’t look winded after the long trek out of the woods, even though the wolf had to be just as heavy.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re fighting the Interior Ministry, right?” The Wolf stepped over a tree root. He walked with an uncommon grace– not heel to toe, like most people, but toe to heel. Deliberate. “But why?”

“They attacked us.” Genichiro spat off to the side to get rid of the boar hair in his mouth. They weaved through the camp till they found one of the camp followers who’d stepped up as a butcher. Genichiro handed off his kill, brows furrowed. He’d thought everyone understood why the war was happening. It seemed so obvious to him. Ashina’s enemies wanted to bring her down and it was their duty as her people to fight back. The Wolf simply stood in place as soon as he handed off his burden, clearly waiting for instruction.

“My father told me it was because all men are the same.” The Wolf toyed with a loose thread from his scarf. “Greedy. If it wasn’t going to be Ashina, then it would’ve been somewhere else. Someone else.”

“...come with me. I need to wash my neck.” Genichiro led them to the river. He knelt down and scrubbed his neck with the river water. As he did, he spoke. “Ashina is an old place. I’ve heard people say that it’s even older than the lands around it. It’s special.”

That was what his grandfather’s officers all agreed on. The Interior Ministry wanted Ashina not only as part of the Shogun’s expansionary ambition, but because of the powers in the land and water. Here, holy water flowed from the clouds and god-snakes nested within mountains. Gods came and went, leaving seeds of their power in the people around them.

“This isn’t the first time Ashina fought for its freedom. Fifty years before my grandfather’s campaign, Ashina peasants rose up and killed the military governor. They lasted for a year before they were slaughtered again. Before that, there were the indigenous clans. A lot of the gunfort people are descended from them.”

“Like you.” The Wolf’s expression was curious. “Isshin-dono isn’t native. But you are.”

“...yes.” Genichiro stared at his distorted reflection in the river. “My mother was from the gunfort. My father, southern. A lot of people here are. Lots of families moved up north to get away from the Ministry’s southern campaigns. And you?”

He didn’t mean to make it seem like he was turning the tables, but the Wolf just inclined his head. “My birth parents died during the liberation. I don’t remember them very well.”

It didn’t seem like a lie. The Wolf looked like an Ashina man too, though slight, like the peasants who lived on the far side of the mountain. The divine waters didn’t flow as much there.

“Do you miss them?”

“Do you miss your parents?”

Fair turn-around. Genichiro didn’t answer and the Wolf didn’t pry. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments - tell me what you liked, what theories you have, just anything at all that came to mind while reading. I love reading every single one I get, and it makes me write all much faster. <3


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